Dear Alfred
by Slovenskych
Summary: Lithuania writes a letter to America telling the story of how he and Russia first fell in love.
1. Introduction

**First I'm going to apologize - I've lost a lot of my motivation to continue writing my ongoing stories. I'm actually in college now (WHAT!?) so I won't have much time to write, as I will be busy slaving over Russian flashcards. I am so terribly sorry about this. This letter is just something that I've started as a brainstorm. It has an simple plot with summary-type narrative, so it's fairly effortless for me to write. (My 'what should I do today' default isn't Netflix, it's writing... hahaha) So that's my excuse. ;_;**

 **Background:  
Throughout his entire 30-year long relationship with Alfred, Toris never once spoke of Ivan. Over time his fear and paranoia built inside of him, until at last he broke down and left Alfred, running to Ivan for help. Alfred was devastated and couldn't understand how Toris could possibly be back with ****_Russia._**

 **Years later, Toris finally gained the courage to explain himself. This is his story - how he and Russia first met and fell in love - back in a time when Eduard and Raivis called him "sir," when more Polish was spoken in the mansion than Russian.**

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 **Introduction**

Dear Alfred,

I'm afraid I owe you not only an apology, but an explanation, hence the ungodly length of this letter. I hope that you don't have any trouble finding time in your busy schedule to read my case.

I cannot express how mortified I am at the way that I discarded you, nor how much I miss you. Please do not feel any guilt in regards to me, as if you have somehow failed to help me be 'independent'. The truth is the opposite. Please, before you read the rest of this letter, understand this: I could not live with myself knowing that you are bearing the weight of unnecessary guilt. None of this is your fault. It is only mine.

I apologize for keeping my internal pain to myself over the course of our relationship. It was for this reason that I was never able to escape my past, and that my worries and fears only grew inside of me until they burst. You were perfectly worthy of hearing my problems, and I should have trusted you with them. But the simple fact is that I didn't, because I was a coward. Throughout my entire life, personal pains have only been used against me. I was a fool to think you would ever do such a thing.

This is why I am writing to you now: To explain. How is it possible for me to love the man that put me through hell and back, who took away my freedom and caused me so much pain? You are not the first to ask this question, and you will not be the last. Please understand that I myself do not fully know the answer; however you deserve my best attempt at one.

And lastly, do not think that my love for you was anything short of genuine. I _still_ love you, Alfred - I think of you every day. And it breaks my heart to know that I have caused you so much pain. From the moment I first kissed you, I was afraid of hurting you. And now I have. I do not expect your forgiveness.

I am writing this over the course of several days - I will edit as I see fit. Some places you may find to be too detailed for your liking; others not enough. You must understand that Ivan and I talk about you all the time; I have learned not to hide my feelings towards you. He knows some of your secrets. Now you get to know some of his.

 **AN: I know that a lot of people think Rusliet as being an abusive relationship, but I don't think this was always the case. I understand that from a political perspective this can be potentially offensive to Lithuanians. Please know that Toris acting upon his personal emotions, NOT those of his people. Also I will try to be as historically correct as I can, but there may be some error. If you'd like to read the scene where Toris got back with Ivan, you can read my story Learn to Love Again. **

**Thanks so much for reading, and please review! The letter will be posted in sections.**


	2. Childhood

Section One: Childhood 

I will begin by dispelling of a common misconception about my background regarding Ivan. Most nations know that I knew Ivan as a child, and that this is the source of my 'pity', as they call it. In short, they think that I defend Ivan simply because I knew him before he was powerful - back when he was at the mercy of his tzars and Mongolian invaders. They think I love him because I feel sorry for him.

This is only partly true.

Yes, I had known him before he was powerful. But he was not pleasant. Treated as an animal, he had acted like one. It was clear in the way that he carried himself that he was acutely aware of his _otherness_. He knew he was not human, and he would not dabble in the simplest of human activities: smiling, laughing, dancing, singing, art, playful conversation. He saw himself above those things, or perhaps, below. Speaking to him seemed like speaking to a wild beast. He appeared vastly intelligent and powerful, but trapped - only able to do what his masters commanded.

I do recall one particular meeting with Ivan as a child. This may not have been the first, but it was the first time I remember him speaking to me.

It was during the time in which I was a Duchy. We were having a meeting about trade, and while I was only accommodated by a few of my officials, an entire entourage of soldiers had escorted Ivan to the small hut where we exchanged money. This was back in the day when nations were still meeting each other for the first time - to see another nation was a rare experience, and often we spent more time goggling at each other than we did paying attention to the business at hand. This was much the case for Ivan, as he had only met a few nations during his lifetime.

He remained silent throughout the meeting, his officials controlling the conversation. The entire time he watched me with unwavering eyes - it made me uncomfortable. When the meeting ended and his officials were talking amongst themselves, I turned to leave. But I was stopped by a tug on my shoulder. I turned around to see Ivan staring at me with intense eyes.

"Look," he said, in the universal tongue nations used back when we couldn't speak each other's languages. He reached up and pulled down the tattered scarf that was wrapped around his neck. I was not expecting him to do this, and so I leaned in to look out of curiosity. In the flickering light of the hut, I could clearly see thick, shiny muscle. The skin was raw, in a marring wound about five centimeters thick. I gasped and recoiled. "What is that?" I asked, horrified.

Ivan glanced behind him to make sure his officials weren't listening. His previously emotionless eyes lit up with excitement. "It's my mark," he whispered, as if telling me a precious secret."How bad is yours?"

I stared at him in confusion. "Mine?"

"Your _mark._ Do your bosses use chains, too, or just the leather? Sometimes when there's not anything better around, my bosses use rope."

I could barely comprehend what he was saying. "You mean - they put those things around your _neck?"_

Ivan looked surprised. "Oh, they don't use your neck? What part then, your wrists? I always thought that would be much nicer, it's hard to move my head sometimes."

"My bosses don't do that to me!"

Ivan frowned. He seemed not to understand. "But… of course they do, how else are they to control you?"

"They control me by telling me what to do - They don't have to use chains or rope to get me to obey them!"

His eyes widened, and for the first time I saw a look of fear. His voice lowered to a whisper so soft I could barely hear him. "But you are a powerful nation."

"Yes…"

"How did you get so powerful if they don't - " He cut himself off, as if realizing the foolishness of his question. Ivan lifted his scarf and sank into it, now refusing to look me in the eyes. "You really don't have a mark?"

I scoffed. "That's not a 'mark', that's a horrible wound! You need to get medical attention immediately!"

One of Ivan's officials barked an order that I didn't understand. He lifted the scarf, tightening it and shrinking into himself before turning and running to his men. He never looked at me again, only staring at the ground with an expression that was a mixture of shame and fear.

Later Ivan told me that his bosses had lied to him, saying that all nations had a 'mark' with which they used to discern who was the most powerful, depending on the severity of the scar. For years he had braved the use of leather, chains, and rope around his neck, all the time thinking that one day he would be respected as they dug deeper and deeper into his skin. It was painful, he said, but he had always awaited the day that he would finally be appreciated for his struggles. He wore that scar with pride.

But after that meeting, everything changed. It was no longer a token of his strength, but a reminder of his weakness. He felt at fault that his bosses were able to assert such brutal control over him. I fear that simple exchange was the cause of Ivan's shame and paranoia regarding his scars - ever since that day, he does not even sleep without a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Even on the rare occasion that the scarf is removed, the scars are still concealed by bandages.

That brief moment of excitement in which he hoped to impress me was the only time that Ivan expressed any human emotion towards me as a child. He had exposed himself in front of me, and was determined never to make that mistake again. And so while I harbored sadness for Ivan as a child, there was never any room for _pity_. This may sound cruel, but you must understand that at the time I was a great power. I didn't have the time nor energy to worry myself with other nations' perils. This was long before nations felt any kind of responsibility to help each other - we were alone in the world vying for power, and anyone falling behind was left unattended.

All of this to make my first point: I do not love Ivan because of his childhood.

 **In Russia's early history, there was always and impenetrable wall separating the rulers and the ruled. From the early 1600's until 1861, 85% of Russia's population were serfs with no personal freedoms at all. They were bound to the noblemen whose estates they maintained. The society was strictly** **hierarchal, with the Tsar on top, who was sustained by a small class of noblemen. The rest were serfs, whose destiny it was to support on their shoulders the grandiose lifestyle of those above them. This class system was held rigidly in place by a perversion of Russian Orthodoxy that viewed the Tsar as the brother of Jesus. Russian proverbs emphasized this to children: "Only God and the Tsar know" and "One sun shines in heaven and the Russian tsar on earth." -An Introduction to the Russian Soul**

 **Thanks for reading. I know it's short, but reviews are still much loved!**

 **Added AN: As is the case with writing national personifications, it's very easy for me to offend people. I try to be as careful as I can, specifying that my stories are more focused around the nations' personal lives than that of their people. I've already mentioned this about Lithuania, but I will add that this applies to Russia as well in this story - how his bosses treated him had more to do with the fact that he wasn't human than it did with the government system at the time. Thanks, and sorry if I gave the wrong idea.**


	3. A New Start

Section Two: A New Start

Now that you know Ivan's nature as a child, it may be difficult for you to imagine how such a socially awkward creature tore apart our Commonwealth. But the man who teamed up with Austria and Prussia to destroy my marriage was not the same child who rarely spoke centuries earlier. Ivan wasnow _Imperial_ Russia - considered as one of the greatest powers in the world.

Ivan told me that he can still vividly remember the day he returned to his Tzar for a report, and no collar was placed around his neck , no chain attached him to the wall. "They let me off the leash," he said.

Prior to this, Ivan had almost no involvement in the government. He was never given any political responsibilities. His entire life had been spent either starving in a jail cell, working as a serf in the fields, or ripping out men's throats in the battlefield. This changed in the late 1600's when Peter the Great saw the Western nations in all of their sophisticated glory - flashing their intricately designed coats and royal rings, reciting Italian operas and drinking Indian tea from solid gold tea cups. Not only were they cultured, but they were clever and charismatic - just as capable of holding diplomacy meetings as their monarchs, and even better at war strategizing. The Tzar was deeply embarrassed at the state of Russia's nation representative, and immediately took action to bring Ivan up to the same level as his Western counterparts.

"The doors of the world were opened to me," Ivan recalled. "For the first time, I had a bed of my own. There were no guards following me around. I was actually invited to the Tzar's meetings so that I could understand our international affairs. I could visit my people in their own homes to see how they lived. I learned what a family was supposed to look like and what it felt like to laugh. I learned to cook. I learned how to ice skate and speak French. I learned how to read - I could not stop. I bought every book I could get my hands on, even if it was in a language I didn't understand. I would read it anyway. They gave me money - _money!_ \- so that I could buy things for myself. Eventually they gave me so much that I could buy my own house! was the happiest time of my life."

Ivan was in a unique place. He was an emerging empire, wide-eyed and curious about the world. He had a thirst for knowledge like no other, and a willingness to learn. He listened, he soaked in every word that anyone said to him. Because for the first time, he was being treated as a _nation._

This was Ivan in 1795, when I took my first step into his glistening mansion in Moscow. This is the Ivan that I fell in love with.

I shall now take this time to make another point: As I'm sure you have learned, I often "fall in love" out of necessity. Just as the collapse of the Soviet Union was very emotionally stressful for me, so it was with the collapse of the Commonwealth. There were several reasons for this.

Through the rocky 200 years of our relationship, Feliks had become my second half. Even during our fights (of which they were many, and as Eduard and Raivis could tell you, they were vicious) I always knew that he would be there for me in the end. But at Russia's house I had nobody to listen to my worries, nobody to share this new experience with. You have to understand, at the time Eduard and Raivis were much closer to each other than I was. Although they primarily spoke Polish, every now and then they would switch to Swedish, and I knew they were talking about me. They referred to each other by their first names - I was "sir". Eduard had a slight contempt for me, annoyed that I still held higher status even as a subordinate. Raivis seemed unsure of how to address me, and avoided speaking to me at all. This came as no surprise - I had been their master for centuries. But now I had been knocked from my status and left in this strange, lonely place where I was in no position to give orders, and yet Eduard and Raivis still treated me with the same distance as before. I was completely alone, stripped of all of my power, and I was desperate for somebody who would treasure me as Feliks had. Somebody who would actually take the time to get to _know_ me - to hold my face in their hands and tell me they loved me.

To illustrate how horridly lonesome this time period was for me, I can tell you that the first time I visited Feliks after our divorce, I broke into uncontrollable sobs almost immediately upon seeing him. (You must understand that Feliks is not very compassionate, and so expressing my distress to him had always been a last resort) He was shocked, but thankfully didn't make fun of me, or tell me to toughen up as he normally did. He stroked my hair and asked me what was wrong. Eventually he started crying too, and I just clung onto him and begged him to steal me away. I didn't want to go back to that horrible mansion, where I didn't have a friend in the world. Saying goodbye to him a few days later was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Feliks and I continued to see each other as the year went on. I _lived_ for those precious moments I had at his side, his fingers running through my hair, his body heat warming the covers next to me. I tangled my legs with his and buried my face in his hair, losing my tongue in his mouth, feeling home, feeling alive, but at the end always came the excruciating pain of knowing that I could't stay there. I had lost everything: My empire, my home, my husband and very best friend. I was completely and utterly alone in that massive, empty mansion.

But while I thought the entire world had turned it's back on me, there was one nation who was looking me full in the face: Ivan.

 **Throughout history, Russia has been described as going through long periods of "falling behind" in terms of social structure and technology, and then a great leader will come along and there will be a surge that catches Russia up with the rest of the world. The first of these was Peter the Great, who helped to modernize Russia and was so intent on Westernizing that he even ripped out his officials' beards if they didn't agree to shave. (There was also a beard tax.) Other game changers were Catherine the Great (Who was Tsarina during the time of the Commonwealth's collapse) and, of course, Stalin.**

 **Estonia and Latvia were much closer to teach other than to Lithuania because they have very similar histories. During the 1500's their present-day lands were even lumped into one kingdom called the Duchy of Livonia (Later to be called the Kingdom of Livonia). Through a series of wars in the early 1600's their lands were given over to Sweden, where they remained an important part of the Swedish empire for almost 100 years. Riga, Latvia's present-day capital, was even considered the second largest Swedish city.**

 **AN: Again, early European history is not my forte, so I apologize for any historical mistakes. Feel free to let me know. :) Thanks for reading, and reviews make my day!**


	4. Friends

**I'm raising the rating of this fic because of adult subject matter, but there WILL NOT be any lemon scenes. I think that would gross Alfred out, don't you? Also: Trigger warning for mention of rape. This will turn up later in the story as well.**

 **Anyway... enjoy!**

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Section 3: Friends

Almost a hundred years had passed since Ivan first got his taste of sophistication. He was educated, charismatic - but in an unnatural way. Like a foreigner who couldn't shake an accent, there was just something _forced_ about the way that he smiled, made political deals, offered hospitality. At the time I couldn't say exactly what it was about him, but I felt uncomfortable around him. He seemed… fake. The truth was that Ivan had learned how to operate on the political stage, but he had yet to learn every day social skills. He knew how to make alliances - what he was lacking was the ability to make friends. When he took custody of us in 1795, Ivan wasn't used to being in charge. As a child he had constantly been suffering under the hands of the Mongols, Teutonic Knights, and Scandinavians. He wanted to learn the things his bosses hadn't taught him - how to make friends, what a nation "family" should look like.

Eduard, Raivis, and I were nervous about living with this strange, unpredictable nation. Imagine my surprise (and relief!) when Ivan pulled me aside one night and admitted to me that he was just as nervous as we were.

"I don't know what to do," he had whispered, deeply embarrassed. "Can you… can you teach me?"

I was shocked, especially considering that I would be tutoring the man who had destroyed my marriage and essentially my entire life. But Ivan seemed completely oblivious to this connection - he wanted help, and saw no reason to apologize for what he had done. I was a former empire. I had experience, I knew how to run a nation household.

At first my agreement to help him was an obligation - he was my new master (it made me sick to my stomach to admit it) and I was to do as he wished. But as time went on and it became clear that while Eduard and Raivis had no intention of treating me as their equals, Ivan _did._ At dinner conversations he would only address me, and he entrusted me with the more difficult tasks of paper filing and running business errands. (This may have been the source of Eduard's dislike towards me.) He took extra time out of his day to teach me Russian, so that my language skills increased much faster than that of Eduard and Raivis. As my communication increased, so did our conversations. Ivan began taking me to local dances and bars to introduce me to the culture. He seemed nervous but excited - as though he was afraid I would think his culture was silly, but also as though he had never shared it before. I felt like Ivan was showing me something precious - something nobody had seen before. He looked up to me - as his senior and as a former empire - and he wanted to know what I thought of his country.

What began as an obligation formed into something I looked forward to. (After all, the alternative was doing chores around the house and/or being shunned by Eduard and Raivis.) But soon it wasn't just the sight-seeing and the cultural experience that I enjoyed - it was being with _Ivan._ The way he looked at me, listened to me, respected me - it seemed to fill some gaping hole inside my chest. I wanted to be loved and appreciated _so much_ that I began to consider the nation who had destroyed my life as my friend.

But… it wasn't long before I realized that our "friendship" was something much more.

I realized that the amount of time we spent together was unusual for nations. Ivan took me out into the streets of Moscow almost every night, or sat with me while I practiced my Russian. His presence became so constant that I could feel a weight settle in my chest when he _wasn't_ there. I found myself imagining where he would take me next, but my thoughts wouldn't settle on the beautiful architecture or the food - I thought of _him._ The deep timbre of his voice, his strange laugh that made a _kol_ sound, the way his nose and his cheekbones made him look like a marble statue. My mind wandered to his hands, his shoulders, and by the time I started imagining what his chest might look like, a chill shot down my spine. It was in that moment when I realized: I wasn't daydreaming about Feliks anymore. I was daydreaming about _Ivan._

The thought terrified me. There was so much wrong that I couldn't even begin to name them. He was my master! What would Feliks think? And what if he wasn't even a homosexual? My mind raced to remember if he had ever mentioned anything about this, but I couldn't recall. All I knew is that Ivan had never - not even once - commented on women. To contrast, Eduard and Raivis talked about them often.

After this realization, I began to get the same flutters I did when I first began to fall in love with Feliks. (Many years after we married. But that is another story.) Every time I found myself with Ivan, I looked for clues. Was he interested in me? Was I just so desperate for attention that I had jumped to conclusions? Did he even _know_ how to love?

My questions were answered one night when we were sitting on a bench in the park, looking up at the stars. Back then there was no light pollution, and we could see the dust band of the galaxy spiraling out. We were discussing cultural differences, and I mentioned that the girls in Russia were very different than at home. Ivan turned away from me, his lips pressing into a line.

"I have never understood women."

My heart jumped - this was my chance to find out for sure. "What do you mean?"

Still Ivan refused to look at me, rubbing his gloved hands together between his knees. "I have never understood why… why men talk about them so much. Especially in battle, always the women. Or at the bar, saying they are beautiful." Ivan's brown wrinkled in genuine confusion. "Yes, they are beautiful. But I would never… " He trailed off. "I don't understand it."

I am ashamed to say it, but I was well familiar with the warriors' attitude towards women. I, too, was horrified at the way they were treated on the battlefield. I could never bring myself to do anything to a young lady against her will.

"Have you slept with a woman before?" I asked, hoping the question wasn't too personal.

"Nyet." Ivan paused. "Well. Almost. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I did not enjoy it. Her breasts felt strange, I did not like it. And she was screaming." He shuddered. "Such awful screaming. Screams of men on the battlefield, I do not hear. Screams of a young woman - that is wrong."

I was surprised at this answer. Ivan was very attractive; surely he had been approached before. "But what about at bars? Haven't any women sought after you?"

"They have." Ivan lifted a bottle of vodka to take a drink.

"…And you said no?"

"I told them I was not interested." He shrugged. "And I was telling the truth."

My mind spun. We had never had a conversation this personal before, but Ivan didn't seem offended at all by my questions. I decided to press further. "Have you ever been attracted to… anyone else?"

Ivan gave me an odd look. "What?"

"Anyone besides women," I clarified, blushing.

"You mean men."

I fumbled with my scarf. "I'm sorry if I offended you - "

"You are attracted to men, yes?" Ivan was now looking at me with an intense gaze. I felt like my heart would explode out of my chest. "You and Poland - "

"We were married," I said quickly. "It was a political move."

Still Ivan watched me, his gaze unwavering. "But you had sex."

I felt my cheeks flush bright red. "Only after years of being married. It's - hard to explain."

Ivan looked at me a little while longer, then he tilted his head back up to look at the stars. After a long time, he said, "I am not attracted to men."

I was still so flustered from our previous topic that I barely heard what he said. "Oh?"

"Nyet. I don't like the beards, the wrinkles. It's not beautiful."

"Then what is beautiful?" I surprised myself with the question. I was about to take it back, but when I looked over Ivan was smiling.

"Young men. With smooth faces and large eyes."

I almost stroked my own bare jawline, but I quickly stopped myself. "Oh?" I asked again, not sure how I should react. I remember thinking, _Do I have large eyes?_

"Da." He was still smiling. "I always enjoyed watching the young soldiers. They are kinder than the old ones, more innocent. They are so beautiful to me."

I didn't know what to say. He seemed to not be flirting - he was only telling me how he felt. Still, it was obvious that he was strictly a homosexual. And then he said,

"Like you."

I froze. My heart hammered in my ears. "Wh-what?"

Ivan turned to me, his smile almost faded but not quite. "Your eyes are very beautiful."

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. My throat had clogged. I just stared at him, barely able to comprehend the words he was saying to me.

"And you are so kind to me. You have taught me so much."

He had no idea how much those words meant to me - not just the words, but the way he had said them. "R-Russia..."

"And you are my only friend." He wasn't smiling anymore - just looking at me with pure honesty and trust. There was something so simple about him, so different from Feliks's unpredictable energy. I looked into his eyes and for the first time I realized how truly _violet_ they were. When I found my voice, it was barely a whisper.

"You are my only friend, too."

Slowly, Ivan's lips lifted into a smile. "I am glad."

 **Historical Notes:  
Despite Russia's current laws prohibiting gay marriage, it was actually considered one of the most lenient regions on the issue during medieval times. Homosexuality was considered a sin by the Orthodox Church, but there were no legal sanctions against them. The first anti-gay laws appeared under Peter the Great, but they only applied to soldiers. **

**Reviews make for more sweet moments! Love you guys!**


	5. Forgotten Pride

Section 4: Forgotten Pride

Ever since that conversation on the bench, we became much more open around each-other. Ivan no longer looked away when I caught him staring - he would smile softly at me. I would blush and smile back before returning to my work. It seemed were waiting for the other to make a first move, but it was obvious to me that Ivan had little to no romantic experience. It made me nervous - how would someone who had never been loved as a child show his affection for someone else?

I found myself lingering around him, as though I needed his presence to confirm that I was wanted. Our conversations grew lengthly as we became reluctant to go our separate ways. One night I realized that I had followed Ivan to the door of his room. My heart hammered in my chest, but he only continued to talk as if nothing unusual had happened. After a time there was a lull in the conversation.

"Well I guess I should be heading back," I said, my eyes darting to the floor.

"Da."

I smiled at him. "I enjoyed talking with you tonight."

Ivan said nothing, looking at me with a blank expression before turning to open his door. Just as I was about to leave, I felt his huge hands close around my shoulders, and before I could react his lips were pressed against mine. It was so abrupt that I had barely registered this before he let go, mumbled a quick goodnight, and disappeared into his room.

So many emotions coursed through me that all I could do was to stand in front of his closed door with my mouth hanging open. Looking back, I can say that what I felt was mostly relief. _Finally,_ there was somebody who actually loved me, who I knew for sure would stay by my side and support me no matter what. For the first time in months, I didn't feel alone - that black hole in my chest was filled with something vibrant and new.

 _Ivan loves me!_ I thought over and over, hardly able to believe it. _He loves me!_ When at last I had recovered from my shock, I ran back to our room, unable to stop the tears of joy from welling up in my eyes. Eduard was putting sheets back onto the beds as I burst through the door. "He _kissed_ me!" I shouted, laughing and crying at the same time. "He actually kissed me, Estonia! Oh - oh my god…."

Eduard stood up from his work and gave me a blank look. "You should tell Poland - I'm sure he'd be thrilled for you." Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. At last my emotional exhaustion came to a breaking point: for the first time in the mansion, I allowed myself to openly cry. I didn't even care if Eduard or Raivis could hear - I just wanted to _belong._ Later Raivis admitted to me that he had wanted to help. "I just didn't know how to talk to you. That had always been Poland's job." Eduard and Raivis did not try to comfort me because I was not their responsibility. (I don't call them my 'brothers' here because at the time we didn't identify as such. I'll explain this development later.)

After he kissed me, I expected there to be a new, fiery element to my friendship with Ivan. But to my dismay he acted as though nothing had happened between us. In fact he seemed more closed around me, not looking at me or smiling as much. I tried to talk to him, but our conversations came to awkward ends. The loneliness washed over me all over again - I was so terrified that he wasn't going to act on his feelings. Or, perhaps he never had feelings for me in the first place and I was jumping to conclusions.

Then one night Ivan invited me to a bar. "I'm going to a party tonight," he said, his eyes flicking towards me over his vodka bottle.

I smiled. "That's nice."

"I want you to come with me."

I felt a flare of hope - perhaps not all was lost. "I would very much like that."

The carriage ride was silent and awkward. I fumbled with my gloves and looked out the window, unsure what to make of the situation. The footman dropped us off at the entrance to a brothel. The moment Ivan pushed the door open, my lungs were filled with the scent of alcohol and cigar smoke. The entire building vibrated with the claps and stomps of the Muscovites as they danced, accordions and deep voices ringing through the air. Ivan led me to a bar and we both ordered vodka. (Remember that this was long before I gave up alcohol.)

After a few glasses, Ivan began to relax again. We started talking, and as the band started another round of dances, I asked him if he would like to dance. Ivan suddenly became flustered, saying he wasn't good at it, but I insisted. He was lying, of course - Ivan is to this day one of the best partners I have had the pleasure to dance with. We swirled around the crowded bar, thee booming voices and claps of the townspeople ringing in my years. I threw back my head and laughed, clapping and stomping in time with the music. dEven Ivan began to smile. At the end we were both out of breath.

"That was so much fun!" I laughed.

"Da. Another drink?"

Again, this was before I had put any kind of restraint on myself where alcohol was concerned. I soon became very drunk. The dance floor, the smells, the music swirled around us. I laughed until tears came to my eyes, looping my arms around Ivan's neck, breathing hot in his face. I lost my perception of time - all I knew was that I was happier than I had been in years. After what must have been an endless number of dances, Ivan took my arm and pulled me away from the dance floor and to a back corner of the brothel.

"What are we doing here?" I shouted over the music, grinning.

And then he kissed me. A _real_ kiss - long and deep and completely drunk. I pressed my body into him - his hair, his chest, his mouth - we came up for air panting for more. We kissed again, and again...I pressed him against the wall. Finally Ivan had to push me away. "Not here," he whispered, and took me by the hand again. He led me out into the street, down the hill where he checked us into a hotel. I was so drunk that I could barely stand on my own, and he led me to a room.

I can't remember that night. But Ivan always smiles when he recalls how the moment the door clicked shut, I flung myself against him as we both frantically removed each-others clothing.

I am aware that this is where I enter uncomfortable territory for you. But I want to be very clear on this particular point: I was not raped. This is crucial for you to understand. Although I was drunk, I _wanted_ that kind of intimacy from him. I would even go as far as to say that I _needed_ it. I needed to be loved. I needed to be desired. This was, and perhaps still remains, one of my many tragic flaws. I know that this is more than you would like to hear, but you _must_ understand how different things were back then. Ivan has told me that he barely instigated anything that night - he only followed my cues.

This may sound familiar to you.

I expect that you are disgusted, if not horrified. But the truth is that this should encourage you.

In the late 1700's I still considered myself an empire. But by the time we first started dating in 1992, I had been stripped of every last shard of my pride and identity. Beaten, ridiculed, raped, lied to, and manipulated, I was a fragile shell of the nation who had once thrown myself upon Ivan in a crowded bar.

This is what you must understand: _You_ are the reason I can look at myself in the mirror and see something more than that used, broken, shell. I can't emphasize enough how in debt I am to you, that you have given me back my pride in my identity, that because of you I was able to overcome the crushing guilt of the pathetic creature I knew I had become. _You saved me._

It's very complicated to explain. But the fact that I am able to go back to Ivan now is not a sign of your failure. It's proof that you've given me the confidence of Toris Laurinaitus, 1796, former ruler over half of Europe. Back then I wasn't afraid of Ivan because we were on the same level. Not due to political status - I was his subordinate - but because of my confidence in _who I was._

Thanks to you, I can now say this: I am not a subordinate. I do not depend on Ivan, nor do I have to obey him. He cannot threaten me, because I will not be threatened. I will fight to the death to protect my people, because I am Lietuvos Respublika, and that is _enough._

Because of you, Alfred, I can say the last verse of my national anthem rings true:

 _Tegul meilė Lietuvos_

 _Dega mūsų širdyse,_

 _Vardan tos, Lietuvos_

 _Vienybė težydi!_

 _May our love for native land_

 _Keep on burning in our hearts,_

 _For the sake of this land_

 _We shall stand together._

I'm crying right now, writing this, because I know how much I hurt you when I left. All I can say over and over is that I love you, Alfred F. Jones, and you have given me the greatest gift of anyone I have ever known. You were, are, and will _always_ be, my Hero.

 **So I hope this made sense. The fact that Toris got back with Ivan is only speculation, and with current relations it's highly unlikely. From articles I've read and conversations I've had with my Latvian friends, I know that tensions between the Baltic nations and Russia are high. But it's my hope that the new generation understands that the Soviet Union, the killings of millions of innocent people, etc. wasn't the fault of today's young Russians. I hope that there will be a day when the Baltic Nations can acknowledge their tragic history, but also embrace a new age in which they can face Russia with confidence and companionship, not fear. (If this is already happening - great! It just doesn't look like it from a political stand point, at least from the Western media's POV)**

 **Also, if you ever have any free time, looking up the words to different countries' national anthems can be pretty interesting - a lot of times it matches up with their history. Thanks for reading, and reviews will make Toris happy again ^ ^**


	6. Meilė

**So this scene has been sitting in a file somewhere for months. Sorry for the wait. ^ ^**

* * *

Section 5: Meilė

I would like to say that my romance with Ivan ended with that drunken, reckless night…but it was only the beginning.

I woke up unsure of where I was. Slowly the pieces came together in my head: Ivan was sleeping next to me, and I wasn't wearing any clothes.

I was _horrified._

I had _slept_ with my master! Not only that, but I had been completely drunk and didn't remember any of it! What if he had done it on purpose - intoxicated me so that he could take advantage of me? (I jumped to this conclusion because I had done the same to Natalia many years ago. This is why you have never seen her drunk at nation parties, and is one of the many reasons for her hate towards me.) But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was less paranoid about Ivan's intentions, and more frustrated that I had been too drunk to remember anything. What if he never slept with me again? What if he was just using me before moving onto someone else? Last night could very well have been the best night of my life, and no matter how hard I tried, it was all a blank blur.

I woke Ivan when I rose to get dressed. I glanced his way, but he didn't look at me. We pulled on our clothes in an awkward silence. Ivan called a footman. We waited, neither of us saying a word or even looking at each other. The entire carriage ride I kept glancing in his direction, trying to get some kind of clue as to what he was thinking. But Ivan only bent over with his hands clasped between his knees, his brow creased as he stared intensely at the opposite wall. I worried, but I hoped that he was only collecting his thoughts.

When we arrived at the mansion and walked through the door, he finally turned to me. "The downstairs dining room is dusty. See to it that it is clean by this afternoon."

My jaw dropped. I just stared at him, unable to even manage a "Yes, sir." Ivan didn't wait for a response, turning on his heel and quickly disappearing into the halls.

I stood there alone in the foyer and commanded myself not to cry.

What did I expect? Of course he would just use me for his own pleasure and then throw me aside like the slut I was. That's all I was to him: His servant, his territory, a cute boy at his disposal. I ran to the shower, scrubbing my body furiously. With each rinse I hated him more.

Ivan didn't come to dinner that night. I rarely saw him, and when I did he never made eye-contact. It broke my heart. The worst part was that Eduard and Raivis knew exactly what I had done. It created an entire new level of tension between us, and I felt more alienated than ever before.

By the third night, I was on the verge of another breakdown. I began to consider running away - back to Feliks, who would love me for who I was, not for what I did in bed. I didn't even care of the consequences - I couldn't stay in this hellish mansion any longer.

The third night, I had the unlucky task of bringing Ivan his night tea. I knocked on the door, feeling a heavy weight on my chest. "Your tea, sir."

There was a long pause. At last a deep voice, "Come in."

My muscles seized. Normally Ivan came to the door to get his tea. Part of me screamed to leave, the other part was too angry to miss this opportunity. I wanted answers.

I pushed open the door and stepped into his room. It was dark - I searched for him, then there was a movement and the door shut behind me. I jumped, and the tea tray fell to the floor with a crash.

"Šūdas!" I cursed. I made to open the door for light, but a large hand stopped me. I froze. I could feel his entire body towering over me in the dark, his hand over mine. I could feel the rhythm of his breathing, I smelled the crisp scent of vodka and sunflowers. In the darkness, and with the hint of my fear, my senses were sharpened. It was just _Ivan,_ all around me, filling my lungs. His presence was so overwhelming that I couldn't force myself to move. We stayed there for what seemed like eternity.

"I - " Ivan seemed to be trying to say something, but he couldn't get out the words. "I'm sorry."

I was completely caught off guard by this. It was one of the few times he would ever apologize to me.

"I - I shouldn't have taken you. The alcohol…" My vision had adjusted enough to see him clench his fist. "It was fun at the time. But I do not want this for you. For us."

My heart sped up. _Us?_

"I…" Ivan swallowed. He looked at me intensely in the darkness. "I cannot name what I feel for you. But you are very, very important to me. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to think - that I would…" There was a new thickness in his voice, and with shock I realized that he was on the verge of tears. "I'm _not_ like that," he whispered, desperate for me to believe him.

There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask, but came out was, "What are we?"

"I…I don't know…" Another long pause. "Do you… do you remember?"

"No."

His voice lowered to a whisper as he leaned over my shoulder, his breath tickling my ear. "Would you like to remember?"

An entire new heat washed over me. "Yes."

I remember that kiss. And the one after that. And after that. I remember each and every new and exhilarating second of that night. By the end we were chest-to-chest, our legs tangled together beneath the covers. I smiled up at him, enjoying looking into his face and threading my fingers through his hair.

"What is this feeling," he whispered, staring down at me with awe.

"In my language we call it _meilė."_

"Meilė," he muttered, testing the foreign word on his tongue. "Then how - how would I express this to someone?"

"We say, _Aš myliu tave."_

"May I tell this to you now?"

I laughed. "You don't need permission!"

Ivan looked embarrassed, as he had many times that night. When I had stopped laughing he gazed into me with those mysterious eyes, his voice soft as if saying the most important words he would ever say: "Aš myliu tave, Litva."

I felt a chill sweep down my back. Of all the years we had been together, Feliks rarely spoke my language. I ran my hand down his cheekbone, feeling the rough stubble scrape my fingertips. I smiled as I whispered, "Aš myliu tave, Ivan." And by the look in his eyes, I could tell that I was the first to ever treat him with such gentleness, and that he was more grateful than words could express.

I still look back on that night. Sometimes I wish I had never addressed Ivan as anything more than my master. Other times I find myself longing to relive that night, with the Ivan who didn't even know how to say "I love you" in his own language. With the Ivan who insisted that he wasn't "like that" , and who _gave me a choice._ Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had I never fallen for him. Would I have eventually gotten closer to Eduard and Raivis? Would I have run away to be with Feliks? Would I have become so lonely that I would have attempted suicide?

I will never know the answer to these questions. But what I do know is the night I fell in love with Ivan Braginski changed my entire life.

 **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed this story! I didn't expect such great feedback, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!**


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